I sit in my office, sippin’ a bourbon and smokin’ a gasper, thinkin’ about some hop-head I put in the slammer last night. He kept going on about a Mr. Grim. Said “I might throw his keister in the jug, but I’d get mine when Mr. Grim came knockin’ around.” Well I gave him a good bit a chin music for throwin’ around empty threats, and he clammed right up.

But something wasn’t right, sure some snowed-out dopester’s usually on about some crazy malarky any time I pick ’em up. This felt different, and it was making me sweat, so I decide to make a trip back over to the joint, see what he’s on about. Just as I drain my glass and flick my butt in the ash tray, this leggy dame walks through the door like she’s giving somebody a tour of the place. I ask her if she’d heard a knockin’ but she puts out her hand and introduces herself in that self-assured way of a girlie who comes from money. She says her name is Dawn, and she has a case for me.

I say I ain’t taking cases right now, my library’s full-up and until I shut some of them up, I ain’t handling any more. She ignores me again and starts chinning about this supposed case she’s got. I’m annoyed but I figure I’ll tip another one down, so I pour myself another whiskey. I ain’t much hearing her as it’s the usual talking about her husband. I assume the cat’s cheatin’ on the broad or playing the Bruno with her, knocking her around, and she won’t have it anymore. That’s nine out of ten women who walk through my door anyhow. But it’s the opposite. She’s complainin’ about she loves him so much and he just won’t let her go. So I interrupt, saying “Doll, I don’t hear a problem here, you’re acting like pulling the Dutch act, why? ‘Cause you love a ‘fella too much?”

But she says she don’t wanna love him so much, there ain’t else she can think about and everyone who meets him is the same way. She wants me to pop him. I shake my head at her going all goofy on me. Just when you think you met the craziest broad in town, some nut goes and ups her.

I’m about to go tell her to climb up her thumb when she slips in the cat’s name, “Mr. Grim.” I nearly flop off my wheels. “How’s that,” I reply. And she says it again, “Mr. Grim, surely you’ve heard of him, he’s running the new game in town.” Well, I tell her spit it out about the bird and she does. Telling me when you meet him you start out weak, but he builds you up in whatever way you want. You wanna learn to build things? He’s got that. You wanna learn to shoot? Fight? Even give someone the old Harlem Sunset, he’ll show you that too. But you have to work for it, you’ve gotta complete jobs for him, but it’s worth the reward, and when you wanna stop, he’ll let you, but only because he knows you’ll be back for more. He’s running all the people in this town, and apparently I’m next.

Well, that convinced me. I gotta find this trouble boy before he finds me. I nod to the broad, grab my coat and my heater and take it on the heel and toe. I knew this one would be different. This Grim Dawn case was going to consume me for god knows how long.